


Theft

by surreal_eyes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 90's movie quotes, 90's movies references, Because I suck, CEO!Victor, Clothes Shopping, Dubious Science, Eventual Smut, Hacker!Yuuri, Hackers The Movie (watch it if you haven't), I don't actually know how to hack?, M/M, Mild panic, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Slight Panic, WIP fair warning i may not finish it, and depiction of a minor panic attack, clueless-to-fashion Yuuri, do not try this at home because i have no idea what i'm talking about, fashion-forward Phichit, i apparently really like writing about clothing sorry, like duh Hackers, mild language? i think, more clothes shopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreal_eyes/pseuds/surreal_eyes
Summary: Yuuri's an internationally known hacker who has a knack for picking difficult marks. When he comes face to face with Victor Nikiforov, the CEO he just snatched 2.5mil from, things go not as planned.Victor Nikiforov's tired of 'yes men'. When he comes face to face with Katsuki Yuuri, who brazenly tells him he's not the least bit sorry for stealing from him, his interest is perked.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Leo de la Iglesia/Ji Guang-Hong
Comments: 48
Kudos: 165





	1. Trade-The-VHS

**Author's Note:**

> My 'hacking' knowledge comes from Hackers and rants from my computer-literate best friend.  
> I make no claims this is, uh, in any way realistic.  
> Enjoy.

“You stole from me.”

Yuuri shifts uncomfortably in the plastic chair he’s been sat in, his entire body thrumming with nerves. Across the room, in front of him, Victor Nikiforov is watching him with eyes that are ten times brighter in person than on his website bio photo. Behind him, two security guards are standing, blocking the door. He risks a glance over his shoulder at them, frowning when they both just stare back at him. He doesn’t like feeling caged.

He shifts in the chair again, tapping a finger against the plastic seat, and meets Victor’s eyes by chance. The Russian quirks a brow, then snaps his fingers. Yuuri does his best not to startle out of the chair. It’s a wordless command; the two guards leave, the door clicking softly behind them. The room goes still, quiet.

“Better?” Victor asks, leaning forward, elbows propped on his gigantic desk. He’s smiling, a lazy sort of cat-like smile that has Yuuri both wanting to get closer and run away, all at the same time.

“Allegedly.” Yuuri corrects, focusing on the original statement. He has to clear his throat before he can continue. “I allegedly stole from you.” He’s pleased when his voice doesn’t crack, though his mouth is about as dry as the Sahara. He searches for something other than Victor to focus his gaze on; anything that might distract him, calm his thundering heart. He somehow ends up looking back at Victor anyway like he’s some sort of magnet.

The man is watching him with an air of amusement, dropping his chin in one hand. “Allegedly.” He agrees as if it’s some sort of inside joke between them. Yuuri guesses it kind of is. He had, after all, filched over two million dollars from the man in front of him last week as part of a multi-corporation hack. He knows it. Victor knows it. Nobody can prove it.

God, at least he hopes nobody can prove it.

The silence stretches. Yuuri taps his fingers against his thigh nervously. Victor does not miss the action. Yuuri’s pretty sure he doesn’t miss anything. Those cool blue eyes flick to his fingers, his leg, then back up to his face. Victor weighs his words and Yuuri waits, on the edge of his seat both literally and figuratively.

“Are you sorry?”

That is… not the question Yuuri expects. He blinks back up at Victor, who smirks at him. It’s a good look for him. Suave and confident, his lips quirked just enough to convey sardonic amusement. But the question? The question has Yuuri confused. It’s more something you’d ask a five-year-old caught stealing cookies than an internationally known hacker who slid a cool 2+ million away.

“Sorry… for?” He prompts, and Victor clicks his tongue like Yuuri has made a faux pas.

“For stealing from me. Ah, sorry.” He corrects quickly, “For _allegedly_ stealing from me.”

He’s teasing, Yuuri realizes, and he’s not sure _what_ to do with that. Everything about Victor screams executive elegance – the office, the suit that fits him like a second skin, even his posture. On the other hand, Yuuri’s style screams ‘broke college kid’, consisting currently of a stained hoodie, jeans that have a hole in one knee, and glasses that have one arm Gorilla glued in place.

He disregards the idea that Victor is, somehow, interested in him. It’s not feasible. It’s got to be a ploy to get information. Victor is watching him, watching the question bounce around in his head until Yuuri impulsively decides to go with honesty.

“If I had stolen from you. Allegedly.” He says carefully, “No. I would not be sorry.”

A smile blooms across the Russian’s face, bright and mischievous. “Marvelous.” He breathes, barely loud enough for Yuuri to hear. The husky accented whisper is something Yuuri would like to metaphorically roll in. It’s going to haunt his dreams, he’s sure of it.

Then, louder, Victor asks, “Can you do it again?”

“Huh?” Yuuri blinks, once, twice, even shakes his head to clear it a little. But Victor doesn’t correct his question, doesn’t clarify.

“Can you do it again?” He prompts again.

“Can I… steal… from you… again…?” Yuuri draws out, just to be sure, and Victor nods cheerfully. “Uh.” He clears his throat, taps his fingers more insistently on his thigh. “Is this some ploy to get me to fess up? Because you have no proof.” God, he hopes he has no proof. “And it won’t work.”

Victor waves a hand in a practiced flippant gesture. “No, no.” He assures as he pushes away from the desk and stands, stalking to the front of the wooden monstrosity. He settles right in front of Yuuri, close enough to touch, leaning with one hip back against the wood and crossing his arms. Every movement, every pose, screams confidence. Yuuri’s a little jealous and, unexplainably, a lot turned on.

He also has an overwhelming urge to bolt from the room screaming.

“I’m not trying to bait you.” Victor assures. Yuuri almost, _almost_ , believes him. “Call it morbid curiosity.” The Russian shrugs with one shoulder. “Can you do it again?”

Icy blue eyes catch Yuuri’s again, full of interest and mirth. Unable to help himself, Yuuri blurts out, “Yes.”

“Will you?”

“No.” Honesty, again. Yuuri never strikes the same target twice. It’s just asking for trouble.

Victor _pouts._ Actually, legitimately, pouts. “Why not? I have more money, you know.” The statement is so absurd, and Victor’s tone is so petulant, that Yuuri can’t help but snort.

“Yes. I know. Everyone knows you have more money.”

“Do they?” Victor’s response is pleased and amused. He sounds like someone just made his world brighter. “I wasn’t aware I had amassed so much fame.” At Yuuri’s raised brow, he relents a little. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“A little.” Yuuri repeats, edged with sarcasm, and Victor winks at him. Yuuri’s breath catches. He covers it up by clearing his throat, but something about Victor’s expression suggests he hasn’t missed it. Anyone else doing that, the flirty little wink, would have been laughable – but Victor doing it is natural, teasing.

With an iron will, Yuuri forces his lungs to behave and drops his gaze from those twinkling dots of blue to the desk that Victor is still lazing against. It’s an expensive desk, real wood with likely hand-carved accents. Victor’s using it as a leaning post.

“Yuuuuuuri.” Victor sing-songs, the name rolling off his tongue with a deeper hint of Russian that makes the R’s roll and the I’s smooth. “If I asked, and of course paid you for your time, _would_ you do it again?”

Yuuri’s so confused by the question that it takes him a moment to realize Victor has said his name. His real name. His legal name. Once it hits, adrenaline rushes through him in a heady haze and he has to fight to keep himself calm. He digs his fingers into his thigh. Victor watches, his gaze like a lead weight.

Deceptively calm, Yuuri asks, “Why should I?” while his brain goes _what why how when what how oh god._

The Russian leans back against the desk, crossing his feet at the ankles, one finger tapping his bottom lip. Yuuri’s drawn to the movement and watches as Victor swipes one finger across his lips. He _knows_ he’s sexy, and it’s both captivating and infuriating.

Yuuri’s fighting to keep his composure. He’s a breath away from being carted out on a gurney. Cause of death? Shared stress of being ‘caught’ plus an ungodly amount of sexual tension from a Russian who really should not be legal.

“Mm.” Victor hums, which doesn’t answer Yuuri’s question. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

And Yuuri outright laughs, a high pitched nervous giggle, because oh god, no he is not sure of himself. He is very much not sure of himself, especially at this very moment when he can smell Victor’s cologne and practically feel the heat coming off his body. Victor’s close enough to touch, if he dared, and Yuuri’s brain is firing on too many cylinders at once. He’s getting signals confused. He’s terrified and turned on all at once, a weird mis-mash of fight or flight.

He panics and blurts out the first thing he can think of. “Your security is shit.”

He immediately regrets his words as Victor perks up like a bloodhound finding a scent trail. His eyes flash with interest. He hops up on the expensive desk, tucking his legs under him cross-legged and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He suddenly looks like a kindergartener getting ready for library storytime. Yuuri has to blink at the abrupt change.

“Is it?” He breathes, a clear signal to go on. Yuuri does not want to go on. He swallows hard against the onslaught of Victor’s full, rapt attention and tries to filter his own brain down to the facts. How had they done it? Oh, right. The secretary.

“Your secretary uses her birthday as a password.” He starts, then gets distracted as Victor shifts and his pant leg inches up. There’s a flash of blue that catches his eye. His socks are… poodles. He’s wearing blue socks with brown poodles all over them. _What?_ When he looks up again, he’s caught in Victor’s gaze like a fish in a net. The mirth has blossomed into something stronger. The only word that can describe it is gleeful.

“And?” Victor prompts.

“And… and…” Yuuri fumbles. “Oh. And one of your accountants logs in regularly on a Starbucks wifi.”

“That’s… bad?” Victor forms the three-letter word into a dirty whisper.

“That’s bad.” He says, a little weakly.

“Tell me more.” Victor orders, dropping his legs so he can lean forward. The poodle socks disappear under exorbitantly expensive slacks. He hooks his hands on the edge of the desk and at this angle, Yuuri could just push up a little, and they’d be right there, close enough to kiss. “What else is bad?”

Yuuri leans back in his chair. Victor smirks. He _knows._

“Uh.” Yuuri pauses to think. “Your employees cell phone numbers are all public, even the, uh, important ones.” He pauses and frowns at that, remembering his ire at the very obvious breach of security. For a brief moment, he gets brave. “What’s up with that, anyway? Who’s your security head? Cause, whoever it is, they kind of suck, you know? It was super easy to SMS your accountant for a bank login. We didn’t actually expect that to work – usually it doesn’t – but man, talk about a walking target. Or maybe your accountant is just an idiot?”

Victor interrupts his tirade. “Wait. You… texted my accountant and he gave you login information?” He tries to follow, his lips turning in a little pout that Yuuri would absolutely attempt to kiss away in different circumstances.

“Basically. I mean, pretty much?” He replies, shrugging. “It’s not like on TV, you know?” And why is he still talking? He has no idea. Words bubble forth like poison. “We don’t slam around on a keyboard and play trade-the-VHS-tapes like in the movies. Most hacking today is social engineering, making people give up the info versus having to dig it out.”

Victor looks bewildered. “Trade-the-VHS-tapes?” He repeats.

“You’ve never seen Hackers?” After Victor shakes his head, Yuuri quips, “Well, no wonder you’re shit at cyber security.”

“Hackers is a movie, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Victor pauses, considers, then seems to come to some sort of decision. “Show it to me, then.”

“Uh?” Of all ways this conversation could have gone, this is not what Yuuri expected. “Like, what, a date?” And then he _immediately regrets_ his stupid words because Victor latches onto the idea, eyes sparkling.

“Yes! Take me on a date, Yuuuuuuuuuuri. You _are_ gay, right? You’ve been checking me out this entire time, so I assumed, but please let me apologize if I’m wrong.”

“Uh.” Yuuri eloquently repeats, then fumbles for… something. Anything. “Yes?”

“Yes, you’re gay, or yes, you’ll go on a date with me?” Victor prompts, then grins. “Aww, you’re blushing.”

And Yuuri, who chokes on his own foot regularly and who’s brain is in a current state of ‘windows shutdown noise’, just goes, “Both?”


	2. Understated! Classic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has a date. Somehow. How did that happen again?

Yuuri leaves the office intact, thankfully bereft of handcuffs, and with a business card with a restaurant address and time scribbled on the back in elegant, looping English. The two security guards, who have just moved outside the door, don’t even glance at him as he leaves. Still, he watches over his shoulder as he hits the elevator button.

It takes too long. He leaves it and goes for the stairs instead, taking them two at a time and hopping over the last five per staircase. He’s out the main doors in record time and bolts his way around the block before he stops to catch his breath.

He’s got the stupid business card clutched in his hand. It’s crinkled now, damp with his sweat. Victor Nikiforov, CEO, is printed in neat gold ink on the center. There’s a website and email address, then a phone number that has been scribbled out and replaced with a handwritten second phone number.

_“This is my personal mobile. Call or text me. Anytime.” Victor said as he wrote it. Then he turned and offered the card to Yuuri. When it exchanged hands, fingers brushed fingers, sending an electric shock through Yuuri._

_“Anytime?” He couldn’t help but ask, a little stunned by the turn in conversation._

_“Anytime.” Victor confirmed with a knowing smirk._

He stares at it, re-playing their conversation in his head. His brain is trapped in a loop of ‘what the fuck’ on repeat.

He ends up slumping on a marble bench bordering a fountain, dropping his head in his hands, and starts giggling uncontrollably.

If he ever writes memoirs, this day would fill an entire chapter, if not more. He’s crazy. Victor’s crazy. That’s the only possible explanation for this whirlwind day that somehow ended with, of all things, a date to dinner and invitation to watch Hackers at a millionaire’s house.

He spends a few minutes catching his breath and controlling himself, then starts home. He calls Phichit on the way, listening to it ring as he stares at the business card and tries not to run in to people on the sidewalk.

“Sawadee krap!” Phichit picks up, cheerful as ever, and Yuuri lets out a hysterical giggle because he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to explain this. “Uh, Yuuri?” Phichit prompts. “You okay there?”

“No.” Yuuri replies, tears in his eyes from laughing. “Not at all.”

Fifteen minutes later, he’s explained the whole thing, and Phichit is understandably concerned.

“What do you mean, you’re going on a _date_ with him? Yuuri! You’re insane! You stole 2 million bucks from this guy, had the nerve to _show up at his office,_ and he wants you to go on a _date_ with him? What if it’s a set-up?” A pause, then Phichit breathes in a breath that sounds pained. “He doesn’t know about me, does he???”

“Technically I stole from his company, not him.” Yuuri corrects. Phichit makes a pained sound. “Peach, relax.” He tucks the phone against his shoulder so he can dig out his wallet and slide the business card in it. He’s not sure why he’s even entertaining the thought of showing up for this date, but he can’t deny he’s interested. “I’m sure he doesn’t know about you.”

“Look, dude, you’ve had your time to freak out. I haven’t.” Phichit pauses, then. “Wait, why aren’t you freaking out?”

Yuuri huffs a laugh and pokes a crosswalk button. “I think I’m past freak out and into the calm before the storm. I’m sure I’ll break down later.” He grumbles, tapping a foot while he waits for the light to change. “I mean, there isn’t really a precedent for this, right?”

“Wait, you’re not seriously considering like… going on this date, right?” Phichit demands as Yuuri starts across the street. He doesn’t have an answer, so he stays silent. Phichit, genius that he is, gets it. “No way. Yuuri, no. You can’t be serious. Stalking his office was bad enough, _and you got caught_. You can’t _date_ him.”

Yuuri shrugs, realizes Phichit can’t see it, and hums into the phone instead. “He is really, really hot.” He justifies. “And, I don’t know, he was… different. He seemed fun? I expected this stuck up rich dude threatening me and instead I got some goofball who wears poodle socks and perches on top of million dollar desks like they’re playground equipment and has never seen Hackers.”

“Poodle socks? _DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF RIGHT NOW_?” Phichit demands, making Yuuri hold the phone away from his ear with a wince. There’s a beat of silence followed by a rush of an exhale.

“Fine, fine. If you’re doing this… which is a _really bad idea, by the way_ …” Phichit pauses and Yuuri can practically see the way he’s rubbing his temple. “What are you going to _wear_?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and hangs up, but Phichit’s words haunt him as he lets himself into his apartment and drops his keys in the bowl by the door. Vicchan skids in from the bedroom, barking, and Yuuri scoops him up for a hug. He gets a bunch of sloppy doggy kisses for his trouble and has to wash his face, but it’s all worth it.

Then he goes to his closet and stares at the rack of clothing comprised of hoodies, ratty jeans, threadbare t-shirts, and one single suit that sort of kind of fit him ten years ago. He stares until he’s convinced a designer suit isn’t going to magically appear, then groans and closes the closet door before falling backwards on his bed.

“Why am I doing this again?” He asks Vicchan, curled up a foot away. The toy poodle, half asleep, blinks one eye at him before starting to snore. “Gee, thanks for the help.”

With a sigh, Yuuri pulls up a list of local shops he can find something suitable at. He has a brief flash of delight at the idea that anything he purchases will, technically, be with Victor’s money. Most of the filched amount had been donated anonymously to various goodwill medical and children’s organizations, but Yuuri had kept a little. Enough to keep him going for a year or two, at least.

Enough for a nice outfit.

He laughs at himself and pushes off the bed. Time to go shopping.

Phichit meets him at a mid-range off the rack menswear store. He doesn’t have time to custom fit anything (and he looked up prices and about fainted, even with his ‘borrowed’ money). Phichit plays dress up with him, tossing him a variety of suits, vests, sweaters, and slacks over the dressing room door. He immediately disregards 90% of it upon Yuuri stepping out. The shop salesman is in either shock or awe, possibly both, as Phichit rips through his store like a well-mannered tornado.

Finally, Yuuri steps out and Phichit snaps his fingers. “That one!”

Yuuri blinks down at himself in a navy crew-neck sweater, white dress shirt, and charcoal grey slacks. It’s by far the tamest of the outfits, though he can’t deny it’s got a ‘I don’t care’ sort of flair.

“This one?” He repeats, just to be sure, and Phichit beams at him with the power of a thousand Thai suns. “But it’s so… plain.”

“That one.” Phichit confirms, nodding. He looks to the salesman, who is still a bit winded from fetching items. “Right? Understated! Classic!”

The man nods. “Elegant, yet casual.” He starts, sounding like an infomercial. Phichit nods along. “Soft merino, excellent for a cool night on the town. The color matches with a variety of coordinates, so you’ll always have a great option. Easy to launder!” His eyes drag over Yuuri’s form before he adds, “And you look fabulous in it.”

Yuuri just barely resists rolling his eyes. He turns to face the full-length mirror, tugging at the sweater a little self-consciously. He’s not used to wearing things that are formfitting, preferring his oversized hoodies, and this is absolutely formfitting. Even the slacks have a weird, tapered inseam that he has to admit looks great, but feels… weird.

“Okay.” He breathes out, turning to change back into his regular clothes. Phichit pipes up right as he’s (carefully) stripping off the sweater.

“Can I do your makeup!?”

“Makeup?”

There’s a tut-tut sound from through the door. “Makeup! A little tinted moisturizer won’t hurt. Oh! I bet I have a concealer that can get rid of your 12-pm-wakeup eye circles! And I have this smoky brown eyeliner you could totally rock.”

“Smoky is in.” The salesman agrees. “And you’ve got the eyes for it.” Yuuri isn’t sure when he became part of the conversation, but whatever. He shrugs into his ratty t-shirt and hoodie and drapes his new clothes over one arm. When he exits the dressing room, both of them are giving him puppy dog eyes, so he sighs.

“Fine. Don’t go overboard, though, okay? Not like that one club night?”

Phichit flaps a hand, gleefully whipping out his phone and swiping through inspiration photos. “No, no, this is subdued. It’s a date, not a mosh pit. Sheesh, Yuuri.”

The salesman gives Yuuri a look, as if he, too, would like to ‘sheesh, Yuuri’, though he refrains. Yuuri has a sneaky suspicion he’s being ganged up on.

By the time they get to the checkout counter, Mr Salesman has talked Yuuri into both a belt and coordinating tie (“These burgundy accents would look amazing with your eye color!”), neither of which Yuuri really needs but Phichit is quick to agree to them and Yuuri is a coward. He leaves the shop with two bags, a healthy case of sticker shock, and a receipt that has a phone number scribbled on the back.

“What is this?” He asks Phichit, holding up the paper that says ‘if your date doesn’t work out, xxx-xxxx’.

Phichit almost falls over laughing and claps him on the back.


	3. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Date (tm) happens. It goes... well, about as well as Yuuri could have planned. Almost.

The next night, at 7pm on the dot, Yuuri arrives at the restaurant via cab. He pays and tips well, then stands on the sidewalk eyeing the restaurant with some trepidation. Half of him wants to go home, call this all off, but the other half… well, the other half wants to be exactly where he is right now.

It’s an upscale place, but thankfully not some sort of 5-star establishment he would feel awkward even looking at. He makes his way to the front, ducking around waiting couples, and blinks when a hostess asks for his reservation name.

“Uh.” He falters, “Nikiforov?” He waits for her to scoff at him, but to his surprise, she doesn’t – just smiles, nods, and leads him to a table sequestered away in a back corner. Yuuri’s eyes dart around as he follows, paranoia setting in at the amount of people and tight spaces.

Victor arrives about five minutes later, slightly flustered. The hostess leads him in, pausing at the table while he shucks off his coat. Unfortunately for her, he gets distracted, his gaze landing on Yuuri with one brow ticking upwards. Yuuri manages not to squirm under his gaze by sheer force of will.

“Wow. You look great.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri is suddenly very, very thankful for Phichit and his magical abilities. He owes him a fruit basket or something. Maybe a new hamster cage. “Uh, so do you.”

Victor finally hands over his coat and slides into his chair without ever taking his eyes off Yuuri. Yuuri’s anxiety skyrockets the moment he sits down. He keeps waiting for the trap to spring. Every time someone passes their table, he tenses, waiting for… what, he’s not sure. Cops? Russian mobsters? He doesn’t know, but he’s strung out, waiting for _something_ to happen.

He clamps down on the impulse to fidget, instead focusing on watching the restaurant’s bar, somewhere over Victor’s shoulder. It works until Victor nudges his foot under the table. Surprised, he moves his focus to the Russian, who is regarding him curiously.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Yuuri mumbles, reaching for a menu. He can feel Victor’s gaze on him. “This is a nice place.”

“One of my favorites. Sorry for being late.” Victor apologizes as he reaches for his own menu. “I would have texted you, but I didn’t get your number, and…” He trails off and affixes Yuuri with a look that makes him want to slide down in his chair. “You never texted _me_.”

“Sorry. I, uh, got busy.” Yuuri lies through his teeth as he tries to focus on the menu. The words blur together – never a good sign – and he ends up being able to focus on one single item. Some sort of pasta he’s never heard of, which will kill his diet, but he has to order something, right? Is it too late for him to get up and just… leave?

But Victor is smiling and telling Yuuri about his day, calm and composed. He’s dressed in a suit that fits him like a second skin, all dusky grey with lighter silver accents. He’s polite and genteel, allowing Yuuri to order first, thanking the waitstaff, complimenting the chef and sommelier via their server.

Victor’s mid-way through telling a story about his dog (a poodle, surprise surprise) when Yuuri comes to the realization he doesn’t truly want to leave. If he weren’t an anxiety-ridden mess, he’d be enjoying himself.

Unfortunately, he _is_ an anxiety-ridden mess, and it’s becoming harder and harder to stay calm. It’s like Yuuri’s own tailored version of hell. Hot, gay man wining and dining him, with a side of extra anxiety sprinkled with oh-god-I-can’t-breathe.

The expensive pasta he’d ordered is sitting in his stomach like a lead weight. He had originally declined alcohol, thinking it prudent to keep his wits, but now he’s eyeing the wine list and reconsidering. At least a glass or two of wine would dull some of the anxiety.

“I told him no.” Victor is saying. Yuuri’s too distracted by the wine list while also trying to keep one eye over his shoulder in case some Russian mobster attacks him and demands the 2 million back. “And then a tentacle monster came up and ate us.”

“Mmhm.” Yuuri mumbles, desperately wishing for a flight of tequila shots. Then the words filter in his foggy brain and he blinks. “Wait, what?”

Victor grins in a ‘gotcha’ manner and nods to his plate instead of repeating himself. “Pasta not to your liking?”

“No, no.” Yuuri’s quick to assure, “It’s… good. It’s fine. I’m just not very… hungry.”

Victor leans back, steepling his fingers in front of him, and then catches the eye of their server. In a flash, the staff member is at their table. He quietly asks for the check and the server flits away to oblige.

Yuuri watches it all with wide eyes. Everything seems to hit him, all at once. The meeting, the shopping, the date, the person he’s on a date with, the plan (Hackers? Really?).

“What am I doing?” He asks himself. Across from him, Victor’s brow raises.

“Is that supposed to be rhetorical?”

“What is this?” Yuuri chokes out through a steadily rising panic. “Why did I agree to this? What are you pulling?”

Victor reaches to pick up his wine glass, taking a delicate sip. His expression is guarded, and if Yuuri didn’t know better, he’d say he was hurt. There’s a long beat of silence before he speaks, as if he needs to plan out his words. Yuuri can feel his breathing tick faster with each second.

“I suppose telling you I am ‘pulling’ nothing won’t work?” When Yuuri just glares at him, he sighs. “Yuuri… Do you know how many people jump when I tell them to?”

“Is that supposed to be rhetorical?” Yuuri parrots, almost immediately regretting it. “Sorry. I mean, no. I have no idea.”

“Lots.” Victor answers his own question, his tone oddly flat. “Employees, businessmen, bankers, lawyers, politicians. I snap my fingers and they jump.” He says it easily, with a surprising lack of ego. If anything, he sounds almost resigned. Sad. “Not even a ‘how high’, _da?_ Just jumping.”

His gaze shifts to Yuuri and Yuuri tries not to squirm. “But you.” His lips quirk up in a mockery of a smile. “You, the hacker who stole from me, then showed up at my office… held no remorse, yet refused to do as I asked and do it again… and then quoted a cult following 90’s movie at me?” He smiles for real then, his gaze heavy on Yuuri. “Would you jump if I told you to?”

All Yuuri can do is shake his head.

“Perhaps I need a that. Someone who isn’t going to blindly follow orders. Someone I can discuss things with instead of a yes man. Someone who might see me, not just the rich CEO.” He pauses, taps a finger against his bottom lip, and finishes, “Someone who won’t always jump.”

Yuuri stares. The words take a minute to sink in, but once they do, his breath hitches. That’s a really deep request for a first date, especially a first date where the relationship’s beginning was based on theft. Large, grand larceny, theft.

He tries to say something, but he can’t get his voice to work. Victor’s watching him like he’s weighing his worth. His chest is unbearably tight; the sweater feels like it’s choking him. The room wobbles in his vision.

And then suddenly Yuuri can’t breathe, not even the little gasping breaths he’d been managing. It’s like a switch has flipped. All his anxiety converges on him at once, leaving him under a heavy cloud that’s crushing his chest. His pulse speeds, his head pounds, and suddenly he just needs to get _out._

He pushes back from the table and stands. Victor’s gaze turns from considering to concerned, his brow furrowing.

“I, uh, need a minute.” Yuuri manages to gasp out, somehow, wincing at his own weak sounding voice, and makes for the front door of the restaurant as fast as he can without running into people.

Things ease once he’s outside, the cold air hitting him with a refreshing jolt. He finds a spot out of the way against the building and leans, letting his eyes close before the dizziness gets too bad. In, hold for four, out. Do it again. Five things – the wall, the concrete sidewalk, the parking meter across the street, the streetlight, a white car.

He uses every tool he’s ever learned and eventually wrestles control back from his own mind.

Once he can breathe again, he lets his head loll back against the brick wall, feeling the cold seep in through his sweater. It’s been who knows how long. Not very, he thinks, but the guilt washes in anyway. He’s left Victor confused and alone on what was supposed to be a date. He probably thinks he ran out on purpose.

He forces his eyes open; it takes four blinks to make the world come in focus and a solid ten seconds to realize someone is standing in front of him, for all intents blocking him from the passing public like some sort of bodyguard.

“Victor?” He asks. The hair is unmistakable.

The Russian glances back over his shoulder, then turns. “You’re okay.” He mumbles, sounding relieved. “I didn’t know what to do.” He holds out Yuuri’s coat, which had been left in the restaurant, and Yuuri takes it numbly and shrugs it on with a murmured thank you.

“I’m so sorry if I said something wrong. I didn’t really consider how this must look to you.” Victor continues, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry.”

“I…” Yuuri starts, not sure how to explain or what to say. Victor reaches out, cupping his cheek. Yuuri should probably duck away and avoid such an intimate touch. It’s a first date. It’s post-panic. He shouldn’t be leaning into it, he should be moving away from it.

He doesn’t. Victor’s palm is warm and comforting against his cheek.

“You don’t have to explain anything.” Victor assures, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and apologize.”

Yuuri tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and nods silently. They stand there, staring at each other, until Yuuri leans back against the wall with a heavy sigh. Victor drops his hand. Relief and regret course through Yuuri in equal measures.

“You promise this isn’t a trap?” He’s so _tired._ Too tired for tact.

“Swear on my Fabergé egg vodka collection.”

Yuuri frowns at the unexpected response. “… Those words make no sense together.”

“They do.” Victor smiles. “Come to my apartment. I’ll show you. And we have that movie to watch.” He hesitates then, an odd look of vulnerability crossing his features. “If you’re still interested, of course. We don’t have to. I understand if you’re uncomfortable. I’d be happy to pay for you a cab instead.”

Yuuri is exhausted. The stress of the night mixed with a panic attack (though a mild one, at least) has him wobbly in his knees and dreaming of his bed. But Victor is smiling a sad little hopeful smile at him while giving him an out. Victor promises this isn’t a trap and, somehow, Yuuri believes him. Victor is gorgeous and fun and physically protected him when he couldn’t protect himself.

“No, it’s okay.” He decides, pushing off the wall. “It really is a crime you don’t know who Acid Burn is.”

Victor’s smile is bright enough to light the sidewalk.

Of course Victor has a personal driver.

Yuuri really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, it’s a little awkward when a car pulls up and Victor joins him in the back. He pushes himself against his seat to be as small as possible.

As they ride, he explains the basics of panic attacks. Victor listens intently, staying quiet and letting Yuuri speak. Then he gets an odd, determined look and glances over.

“So if that happens again, what do you need?”

Yuuri takes a moment to consider his answer, surprised at the question. Victor is planning, as if they’ll be seeing each other more.

“I... don’t know.” He admits. “Space, sometimes? Breathing help. A reminder I’m not dying. Usually I can handle it alone.” He rubs the back of his neck with a hand self-consciously. “Look, I’m sorry about… all that.”

Victor frowns. “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to, you know…” Deal with it, deal with me, Yuuri finished the rest in his head with a grimace. “Especially on a date.”

“I suppose you could say it’s my fault, anyway.” Victor reasons when it’s clear Yuuri won’t be finishing his statement. “I’m the one who terrified you into thinking I was trapping you.” He sighs. “I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

“You know… I actually believe you.” Yuuri murmurs, surprised at his own words. He watches the city pass out the window until Victor speaks up again.

“Are you okay now? Do you need anything? Should I take you home?”

“I’m tired.” Yuuri admits, watching light pole after light pole pass. “It’s… exhausting, fighting with myself like that. But I’m okay. We can still watch the movie.” He pauses, then rushes out, “Only if you want to, I mean.”

“Of course.” Victor assures as they turn into an upscale apartment complex’s parking lot. There’s a pause as they wait for a gate to open, then the car is coming to a stop in front of a high class, but oddly normal, apartment building. Yuuri is too busy frowning at the building to notice when Victor glances over.

Victor hesitates. “Yuuri? Do you want to go home after all?”

“No, just… You live here?” Yuuri asks, feeling foolish. It’s not what he was expecting. “Where’s your… I don’t know, multimillion-dollar mansion with gardens and roundabouts and stables?”

“It’s a two-story penthouse with a pool in the basement, if that helps?” Victor replies, lips quirking in a shadow of a smile. “I own the complex, actually. The other apartments we use for staff housing. I have no use for a mansion or, uh, what was it? Stables and a roundabout?” His driver opens the door and he slides smoothly out, holding a hand for Yuuri to help him out as well. “I don’t even like horses.”

The penthouse is much larger than it looks from the outside. Yuuri’s image of ‘opulent rich businessman’ clicks back into place upon seeing the professionally designed, open air first floor. It’s all greys and blues with a winding staircase encased in glass going up one side, leading to a balcony framed with the same glass. A recessed living area is to the other side, the furniture very modern and chic. There’s a huge, spotless, stainless-steel-filled kitchen to the other side.

Victor closes the door behind him while he looks around, then holds out his hands. Yuuri blinks at him and, in an act of confusion, puts a hand on his. He realizes he’s made a mistake by the way Victor’s eyes widen, then he clears his throat delicately.

“Ah. I was just going to take your coat…?”

Yuuri snatches his hands back and flushes scarlet, feeling like a complete idiot, and shrugs out of his coat. Victor goes to hang it up somewhere, then returns with a smile. They both toe off their shoes and end up standing, staring awkwardly at each other.

“So! Hackers. Can I get you anything? Drink? Popcorn? Is this a double-digit TV movie or a triple? I mean, the 105 has the awesome curved screen, but I’m not sure we need that for a 90’s movie, and the seats in the TV room are better even if the screen’s smaller.”

“Wait, wait.” Yuuri holds up a hand, feeling a bit faint. “Are you telling me you have a curved 105 inch TV?” He really shouldn’t be surprised. Victor is a millionaire, after all. It makes sense he would own a TV that costs five figures, minimum.

Victor grins, eyes bright. “I do. Surround sound and all. Wanna see? It’s up in my bedroom.”

Yuuri balks. “Um, no. Maybe next time.”

Victor chuckles and leads the way to a side room instead. It’s not huge, but not exactly a cozy little space, with a rather large TV on one wall framed by cabinets. An L-shaped couch faces it and there’s a couple of beanbags tossed in a corner.

But what catches Yuuri’s eye is the armchair. Overstuffed and huge, likely large enough to seat two, it sits innocently facing the TV. He has a flash of an image – him curled up, maybe with a laptop, an oversized mug of tea, sinking into deep gloriously soft cushions. He’s a sucker for anything _comfortable_ and that chair absolutely fits the definition.

“Make yourself at home.” Victor invites, then pops up from the fridge, holding up two beer bottles in silent question, and Yuuri shrugs. One won’t hurt, he figures. Then he hovers over the glorious armchair, afraid that sitting in it will be a disappointment. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall.

It’s perfect. The cushions are plush and comfy. The fabric is soft and warms up to his skin almost immediately. He pulls his feet up, tucking them under him, and leans against one arm with a sigh of contentment. He could live and die in this chair.

It’s the pop of a bottle cap that reminds him he’s not alone. Victor’s leaning against the couch, an amused look on his face. When Yuuri looks up, he holds out a beer.

“I, uh.” Yuuri takes the bottle and grimaces. “I like your chair.”

“Perfect!” Victor quips. “I hate it. Consider it yours.”

And just like that, Yuuri has an assigned seat at Victor Nikiforov’s apartment. The idea doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. It’s like all his anxiety drained out at the restaurant, and he’s left with a slightly bewildered but calm mental state.

_Hackers_ is just as bad as he remembers it, and he finds it’s more fun to watch Victor’s expressions than the movie itself. Ten minutes in, Yuuri’s given up all pretenses of sitting properly – he’s now sprawled in ‘his’ chair, his legs dangling off one of the arms and his neck resting on the other. He’s turned to see Victor, though he can absolutely see the gigantic TV as well. It’s hard to miss.

The growing horror and obvious second-hand embarrassment on Victor’s face is it’s own entertainment. His eyes narrow when Dade calls in to the TV company to get a router number and Yuuri snickers.

“Social engineering.” He remarks. “Different era, same idea.” Victor just nods. “Though that’s about the only real ‘hacking’ in this movie.”

‘Mess with the best, die like the rest’ pops up and Victor coos. “Yuuri! Do you have a clever tag line?”

“Absolutely not.”

By the time they’re halfway through, Victor’s giggling and clutching a pillow to his chest in childlike glee. He legitimately covers his eyes at Kate’s topless scene, peeking through his fingers. It’s adorable, and somewhat confusing, to see a high-level executive still in fairly formal businesswear, giggling with mirth over a cult classic. Yuuri starts mentally making a list of other movies he thinks might bring out the same reaction.

Something tells him Victor doesn’t get a chance to be like this often. His words from the restaurant meander through Yuuri’s head. Is this what he meant by ‘someone who sees me’?

Victor outright snorts with laughter when The Plague skateboards through the ‘server room’ and Yuuri grins, feeling a little sleepy. It’s cute. He’s cute. The date went well, really, despite his anxiety flaring and potentially ruining things. He likes Victor, he realizes. Maybe he’ll give this a try. Victor doesn’t seem to care he’s a thieving hacker, after all. It was his idea.

Yuuri drifts to sleep with that in mind and wakes up to Victor’s face inches from his own. The Russian blinks, smiles, and backs away, making it all look smooth and planned. Yuuri shoves himself up, grasping for his glasses when they slide down his face at the jostling movement.

“You fell asleep.” Victor explains. His smile is soft and warm. “I didn’t want to wake you. I figured you needed the rest after earlier.” He pauses and nods to the clock. “But it’s almost eleven.”

Oh, right. Shit. Yuuri blinks. He’s at Victor’s place still, crashed out like a bum on a first date. He scrambles up from the chair and nearly trips himself trying to stand. Victor watches with slightly wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep.” He mumbles, rubbing his face. “I’ll go. Thank you for, uh.” He pauses and looks around, “Everything?”

Victor chuckles as he turns off the TV and leads Yuuri back through the house. “You’re welcome. Georgi can take you home, just let him know the address.” At Yuuri’s questioning glance, he elaborates, “He’s one of my drivers.”

“Oh. Uh, I can take a cab.” Yuuri tries to argue. Victor’s horrified look of ‘absolutely not’ shuts him up quickly. The Russian digs through a hall closet, comes up with Yuuri’s coat, and offers it to him.

“It’s what he’s paid to do. Let the poor man do his job.” He chastises, and what really can Yuuri say to that? So he nods and tucks his feet in his shoes.

Once he’s standing, ready to go, Victor reaches out and cradles his cheek again, like at the restaurant. He moves a step closer when Yuuri doesn’t pull away and his fingers trail down his jaw until they rest under his chin – a light touch that makes Yuuri almost instinctively raise his head. Victor pauses, fingertips warm where they’re touching, and it’s a silent question. Yuuri licks his lips in answer.

Victor’s gaze drops to his mouth. There’s a flush on his pale skin, right across his cheeks. It looks great on him. Yuuri waits, practically vibrating, as Victor runs his thumb up his jaw. Right as he’s about to close the distance himself instead of waiting, there’s a single knock on the door. Victor jerks, startled, then laughs at himself. His hand drops.

“Georgi’s ready.” He explains. “Goodnight, Yuuri. Thank you for the adventure.”

Yuuri swallows. “Goodnight, Victor.” He replies, then follows a depressed looking man in a black suit down to the parking lot.


	4. Monumentally Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls and internet calls and bribery, oh my!

There’s three days of radio (phone, in this case) silence. Yuuri drives himself mad with his anxiety, wondering what he did wrong (besides break down in a restaurant) and what he can do to fix it, because somehow even after one date, he misses Victor like a part of him.

He’s started making lists of cheesy movies to introduce him to. He wants to see what socks he’s wearing today. He’s considering Japanese dishes he might like. It’s weird, weird, weird, bordering on obsessive, and he’s sure if he can just… talk to him… maybe it will ease. He wonders what he’d do if he just… showed up at his office again.

Then he mentally screams at himself because even he knows that is the absolute worst thing he could do. Once was bad enough.

It’s the fourth day, when he’s doing laundry and digging dollar bills out of his wallet to feed to the change machine, that he notices the business card still tucked innocently in a slot. With a jolt, he realizes – he never gave Victor his number.

Shit.

Semi-frantic, he starts a new text message and… lets it sit, empty. Now what? He ends up typing out six different versions before he finally sends one that seems semi-decent. He hits send with his eyes closed.

_> > Hi. It’s Yuuri. Just wanted to say thank you again for dinner._

The reply is almost instant.

<< _Yuuri! Finally! I was afraid I’d scared you off!_

Yuuri snorts because it’s really the other way around. He’s amazed Victor wants anything to do with him after a mid-restaurant panic attack and falling asleep halfway through the movie. Probably the worst date Victor’s ever been on.

>> _No. I just forgot I never gave you my number._

_< < Excellent! I’m heading into a meeting but can I call you later?_

Yuuri hesitates in replying. Texting is one thing. Calling? Well, that’s somehow more… somehow different.

“Who ya taaallllkkiiinnnn’ to?”

Yuuri startles so bad he almost drops his phone. Phichit is standing in the doorway, his brow raised in amusement, a basket tucked under his arm. Yuuri fumbles and considers five different excuses before he finally settles on the truth. Phichit would likely see right through his lies anyway.

“Victor.” He admits with just a hint of blush. Phichit’s eyebrow raises even more as he drops his basket on top of a washer.

“Victor? 2-point-5-mil-Victor?” He repeats, as if to clarify, even though he knows damn well who Yuuri means. Yuuri swallows and nods. “You’re still, like, talking to him? I thought the date thing was like… a fluke.”

Yuuri chews on his bottom lip and pushes his glasses up on his nose, uncomfortable. “It was. Well, it was supposed to be. It’s… not… anymore.” He explains. Phichit looks conflicted, finally sighing.

“I can’t tell you what to do.” He starts, and Yuuri nods. “But this… this is a bad idea, Yuuri. You know that, right? You stole from him. He’s your, uh… what do they call it in English? Target?”

“Mark.” Yuuri provides with a slight bit of resignation. “My mark.” Phichit isn’t telling him anything he hasn’t been telling himself a hundred times already.

“Right, mark.” Phichit agrees as he dumps his laundry in a washer, heedless of mixing fabrics or colors. Yuuri tries not to wince. His clothes are comfy and worn in, but he still separates. “And I know he wasn’t the only mark, but he was a big one, and… are you sure about this?”

“Not at all.” Yuuri admits with a sigh. “I’m not sure about anything other than… Peach, I like him. I enjoy being around him. He gives me butterflies. I… don’t want to stop.”

Phichit gives him a long, hard look while Yuuri tries not to squirm. “You’re okay, right?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, this. All of this. The job, the dude… you just seem really calm about it. Should I be, you know, bracing for impact? Or…?”

“I… don’t know.” Yuuri admits. He drops his gaze and shrugs. “I don’t know, Peach. This is weird.”

“Yeah. No offense, but you freaked out for two days because Ketty found out you DDoS’ed that gross homophobe site. Compared to this, that was a cakewalk. But you’re really calm. I can’t tell if it’s a delayed reaction or you’re just so deep you’re past it or what, man.”

Yuuri has no idea what to say to this other than repeating, “I don’t know.”

Phichit’s lips press together in a sign of annoyance. Yuuri tries not to read too much into it. He gets it – Peach is worried, about their activities and future. Nowhere in the ‘guide to international hacking’ does it explain how to not fall in love with a target. Yuuri’s pretty sure it’s a given that you don’t fall in love with your marks. It shouldn’t have to be spelled out.

Not that he’s in love, anyway. That would be absurd.

He glosses over that thought and holds up a hand to stop Phichit, who looks about to launch back into it. “I know.” He says before Phichit can verbalize his thoughts. “I’m going to be careful. I promise. It’s just… He’s different.”

Phichit rolls his eyes a little. “Different like Stephen?” He snarks, then grimaces in response to Yuuri’s flinch.

“Don’t.” Yuuri pleads, “Please.”

“Okay, that wasn’t fair, I’m sorry. You just tend to fall for people remarkably easy even when maybe you shouldn’t.” Phichit scrubs a hand against his neck and sighs. His expression softens. “Look, if he makes you happy, sure. Just, you know, be careful. I almost lost you after Stephen. I don’t want that for you again. And I’m still convinced Victor is setting you up somehow.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri mutters, more as acknowledgement than agreement. Thoughts about his disastrous previous relationship hang in his head like a cloud, dimming his excitement at a new relationship. He shakes his head a little to try to dislodge it and glances down at his phone. Victor’s message hangs there, unanswered. He types out a quick reply before he can chicken out or his anxiety kicks in harder.

_> > Sure. Whenever. I’m free all day._

When he glances back up, Phichit’s watching him, looking torn, like he wants to apologize but can’t. He clears his throat and changes the subject entirely instead. “You still up for cracking into Leo’s uni tonight?”

“Mm. Did he fail another math test?”

Phichit snickers a little as he drops the washer lid and shoves coins in the slot. “Yeah, he’s freaking out about it. Something about a GPA and post-grad requirements or something. I don’t know, I skipped college.”

“Yeah, well, your family is basically royalty, so it’s not like you need a job.” Yuuri drops his phone on one of the folding tables and tries to ignore it. He’s not waiting on Victor’s reply like a teenager. He’s not. “Shouldn’t be hard, especially if they haven’t updated from last time. Did they ever catch him the first time?”

“Not that I know of.” Phichit leans back against the machine as is starts, a gentle ‘woosh’ sound filling the silence. After a minute, he bites his lip, opens his mouth, and goes “Yuuri-“

Before he can get any more words out, Yuuri’s phone starts ringing. Yuuri’s hand darts out immediately and his fingers curl around it, cradling the chunk of plastic. Phichit’s eyes narrow down on it, then he gives a resigned sigh. Whatever he was about to say is abandoned.

“Text me when my clothes are done. I’d say tell him hi for me but please, please don’t. I don’t want him knowing I exist.” He pauses, then for emphasis, says, “Ever.”

“I understand.” Yuuri replies, and Phichit waves him off as he heads out of the basement.

Yuuri stares at the buzzing phone until it’s on the last ring, then has to fumble to answer it before it flips to voicemail.

“Yuuri!” Victor practically cheers. Yuuri can’t help the little smile that sneaks on his lips. Some of the fog from his conversation with Phichit recedes and he lets out a breath.

“Hi, Victor.”

The call is unremarkable, really. They talk about Victor’s day, his meetings with various businessmen and lawyers, and his boredom at the entire thing. Victor seems content to talk about himself, taking the lead in the conversation. Once or twice he pauses and seems to change what he’s about to say. The third time it happens, Yuuri realizes it’s because he’s purposefully avoiding anything about computers, finances, or his staff.

His anxiety spikes at the now obvious gaps in the conversation, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Neither does Victor. It makes sense that Victor wouldn’t fully trust him. Yuuri really doesn’t blame him, even if it makes his heart ache in a weird way.

He also doesn’t ask what socks Victor’s wearing today, even though he really, really wants to.

“Can I see you again?” Victor asks as their conversation winds down, a note of wistfulness in his tone. Yuuri’s glad they’re only on a voice call; he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. He shifts the phone to his other hand and hops up on the table, letting his legs swing.

“Sure.” He answers, more confident than he feels. “What do you want to do?”

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?” Victor asks with a teasing lilt. Yuuri drops into an uncomfortable silence, really not sure what to say to that, and a beat later Victor seems to realize his own mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was really dumb. I just wanted to surprise you, but that’s probably not a good idea either, is it?”

Yuuri hedges, chewing his lip. “I… don’t really like surprises.” He half-agrees. Victor hums.

“Okay, out with it then. Let’s go bowling! There’s a little family-owned place downtown. They make the best chili cheese fries and there’s an arcade attached with an original Pac-Man.”

Yuuri blinks, caught off guard by the (frankly wonderful) suggestion. “… bowling?”

“You sound surprised.” Victor teases.

“I just… expected something else. Something more, uh.” Yuuri pauses, trying to find the words. “Upscale? More rich… person-y.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Victor goes, “Ah.” His tone is suddenly flat, almost cold, as he continues. “Well, there is this dinner I was invited to Friday. You could be my plus one. Super fancy gala, suits and ballgowns, champagne and dancing - that sort.”

“I mean, if you’d rather do that…” Yuuri trails off, confused. How did they get from bowling to ballgowns? And why does Victor sound like this is suddenly a business deal instead of setting up a date?

“Sure. Friday at 7. I’ll send Georgi to pick you up.”

“Oh.” Yuuri swallows past a lump in his throat. Something’s wrong, but he’s not sure what. “Okay. I guess that’s fine. I’ll see you then? Formal, right?”

“Of course.” Victor agrees easily. “And- Ah, wait. Just a second, Yuuri, sorry.” There’s a rustling sound, then two voices speaking in some rapid language Yuuri doesn’t understand. A second later, Victor returns with a grunt. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you Friday okay?”

“Yeah. Have a good day.” Yuuri replies somewhat stiffly before the line goes dead. He lets the phone drop to the table and drops his head in his hands. He rolls the discussion around in his head, trying to pinpoint why he suddenly feels slimy. Nothing in particular stands out, but he can’t shake the feeling.

He finishes his laundry, tucks it in a basket, then switches Phichit’s to the dryers as a goodwill gesture before heading back up to his apartment.

Hacking, to Yuuri, is a game. Usually, it’s less about stealing and maliciousness and more about exploring. Yuuri’s always loved the thrill of finding loopholes more than the results. Phichit is the opposite – he bolts towards the goal, leaving everything else behind, and then is off on the next goal. He’s also the more adventurous of the pair; hacking into Victor’s company had been his idea, though Yuuri had been excited to tag along. Together, they make a good team.

It’s disturbingly easy for them to get into the university’s grading system and even easier to tweak a few grades to bring Leo’s cumulative grade up. Something this simple doesn’t require a team effort, so Yuuri’s here for the amusement and social aspect and for the fun of tinkering around in a university system. Phichit does the actual changes – Yuuri and Seung-Gil just sit in the call, making snarky comments back and forth and teasing Leo.

Leo’s young and new to anything cyber, so they loop him in on it too. He fanboys a little over Phichit, who blossoms under the attention while Yuuri finds an email server and starts changing teacher’s signatures to really bad 90’s movies quotes.

“What’s that line in Jaws? The one with the beach manager guy about the dead shark?”

“Something something autopsy on a fish?” Phichit provides helpfully.

“Fellas, lets be reasonable, huh? This is not the time or the place to perform some kind of half-assed autopsy on a fish.” Seung-gil drawls, complete with a horrible American accent. Yuuri dutifully changes a math professor’s signature to the quote after mumbling a thank you.

“You have to make it look legit.” Phichit explains over to Leo as he turns a 58% into an 88%. He’s got a screen share up so Leo can watch. “And plausible. You can’t just give yourself all 100’s, it looks suspicious. So you change a 5 into an 8 – and if someone looks at a paper copy, well, maybe they were scribbling and that 5 really is an 8… and you change this zero into a 50% with a note that it was turned in late for half credit.”

Leo makes the appropriate ‘ohs and ahs’ as his grade magically ticks up. Yuuri snorts, because Phichit’s just bullshitting, and he knows it. Leo seems appropriately awed, though.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Whatever. Do your damn homework and we won’t have to do this again.” Phichit says, but he’s very obviously amused. Yuuri snickers as he flicks through the university’s staff list in search of someone else to mess with. He’s got rate-my-professor up on his third screen to cross-reference.

Leo whines. “Guang Hong distracted me, what was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, get your head out of your boyfriend’s ass and pay attention to the school you pay so much money to?” Phichit responds with the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll. “Honestly.”

“Probably wasn’t his _head_ in his ass.” Seung-Gil remarks, making the entire group dissolve into laughter as Leo splutters and tries to defend himself. When there’s a lull in the laughter, Yuuri speaks up again.

“Anyone got a formal suit I can borrow for Friday?” Someone in the call wolf-whistles and he grimaces. “It’s no big deal, just this party Victor’s going to. Formal stuff. Rich guy stuff.”

“Rich guy stuff.” Seung-gil repeats, droll. “Wait, Victor. Victor Nikiforov?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Phichit interjects, sounding annoyed. “I’ve already read him the riot act, Lee. He won’t listen to me. It started off with him stalking the man’s office, getting caught, and now apparently they’re dating.”

“Wait, getting caught? Does he know?” Seung-gil demands, interrupting. Phichit is quiet – Yuuri’s not getting any help with this. He groans silently.

“Well, yes.”

“Yuuri, that’s monumentally stupid. Why hasn’t he turned you in yet?”

“I… have no idea. He, uh, asked me on a date instead?”

“Boy’s got lady luck on his side.” Phichit notes with a sour tone. “And the junk in the trunk helps, too.”

“Peach, please, you really have to stop with the weird American idioms.” Yuuri deflects. “You sound like a bad movie.” He changes some professor’s bio, adding in a bogus degree from ‘Dagobah University of the Jedi Order’.

“Ah, shaddup _baka_ , you’re the one trapped in a rom-com with your richy rich boyfriend. I swear to god if you go chase him down an airport runway one day, I’m selling the script to Fox.” Phichit sighs. “Friday, huh? Come over after work tomorrow, we’ll figure something out. None of our stuff is going to fit you.”

Yuuri lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Thanks, Peach.”

He signs off the call fairly soon after that, almost able to feel Seung-gil’s annoyed glare through the fiber line.

After the great University Break In, there’s not much else to do. Yuuri tries to convince himself he’s not counting down to date night #2, but let’s be honest, he totally is.

His day job is as a security specialist for a high-end tech firm. It’s boring and trivial – the things he does for them are well within his scope of expertise, and in fact, fairly simple – but he does it, because it’s a paycheck, and it’s a middle-class respectable job that keeps him financially stable with income that can be proven, vs income that just magically appears. Also he works from home 90% of the time, which suits him perfectly.

It’s also boring as fuck. He fights the urge to push their limits. They don’t like that. They want someone to monitor their security and inform them of risks, not break through the show them the flaws. But it’s hard. He sees loopholes and security gaps that anyone with half his skill could exploit. It’s difficult not to exploit them himself, if only for the fun aspect.

After work he shows up at Phichit’s as agreed. The Thai man takes one look at him and sighs.

“You really do expect me to work miracles, don’t you?” He mourns, then grabs Yuuri’s hand and shoves him in his car.

They end up at a formal menswear store Yuuri’s never heard of in a run-down dusty corner of the city. Phichit sweeps through the door and goes immediate to hug an elderly woman who seems grudgingly pleased to see him. She pinches his cheek and hands him a foil-wrapped candy which he happily pops in his mouth.

He then introduces Yuuri, who waves a little shyly. The woman’s eyes light up and she circles around him, looking him over.

“Ah! New suit, yes? Wedding?” She’s got an accent, Italian perhaps, but it’s tapered by years in the US. She snags a measuring tape from under the counter and immediately starts twisting it around Yuuri, barking numbers back to Phichit, who jots them down on a notepad as if he’s done this before.

“Uh. No. Not a wedding. Um. A… party?” He winces, having no idea how else to describe it. Victor didn’t exactly give him much detail. She pulls his arm up by the sleeve and wraps the tape around his wrist.

Phichit rolls his eyes. “His boyfriend is filthy rich and he’s the +1 to some formal shindig.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Yuuri argues, though without a whole lot of fervor. “We’re just… it’s the second date, jesus Peach.”

“Whatever. You want to bang him and he’s making you wear a tux. Sounds like a fucking boyfriend to me.”

The old lady grabs a bridal magazine off the counter and smacks Phichit upside the head with it. “Language!”

“Sorry, Donna.” He grunts as he rubs his head. Yuuri snickers.

“You stay, I find suits.” Donna points a finger at Yuuri, than presses a candy in his hand before she shuffles back into some sort of store room, clucking her tongue at herself. He obediently stays still, giving Phichit a wide-eyed stare.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.” He offers, and Yuuri tosses the foil-wrapped candy at him. Phichit snickers at him and lounges half-splayed across the counter, perfectly at home, making gross sucking noises to be extra annoying. “Donna Maria is Micky’s aunt. You know Micky, right?”

“Vaguely.” Yuuri responds, unable to bring up a face but recognizing the name.

“Anyway, she does all the formal wear for his shows.”

“Ah. She’s, um. Something.”

Donna comes back with her arms full of plastic-covered suits, then elbows Phichit off the counter and lays them out. There’s the usual formal black, one charcoal grey, one bright orange (and Yuuri immediately wrinkles his nose at that one, not even willing to try it on, no matter how much Phichit begs), and one that’s a deep, midnight blue so dark it almost seems black until the light hits it right.

Yuuri manages not to drool over the blue one and dutifully tries them on in the order Donna presents them to him. She tsks and clicks as he steps out in each one, sometimes disregarding it outright and sometimes pinching and adjusting the fabric.

It’s a lot like when Phichit dresses him, actually. Maybe that’s where he learned it.

When it’s time to try the blue suit, he takes a moment and runs his hands down it. It’s soft and silky, some wool mix that feels luxurious under his fingertips. The lapels are trimmed in matching blue satin, and Donna had looped a midnight blue tie with it.

He shrugs into the coat and almost feels weak kneed. It’s perfect. It fits like a dream.

Donna’s expression, when he steps out, shows she seems to agree.

“Always the last.” She tuts, coming up and brushing at his shoulders. “Stand straight, no slouch.” She pinches the seams, jiggles the fabric across his shoulders, tugs on the lapels. “Good fit. Good color. Needs adjustment, here… and here…”

She reaches and smacks Phichit on the shoulder where he’s slumped over the counter, almost asleep. He snorts and looks up.

“You! Notes!”

“Huh? Oh.” His eyes narrow, taking in Yuuri. “Yeah. That’ll work.” When Yuuri frowns at him, he shrugs. “What? Donna has impeccable taste. I trust you with her.” That’s high praise from him, so Yuuri just shrugs (and earns himself a swat on the shoulder) and lets her poke and prod and pin him while Phichit dutifully writes down alteration notes. When they’re done, he drops the pencil and sneaks up closer.

“Dooonnnaaa.” Phichit needles, coming up to rest his chin on the old lady’s shoulder. She grunts at him. “We need this by Friday.”

“What? No, you crazy.” She flaps a hand at him over her shoulder. He rears back, narrowly avoiding being smacked.

“But Doonnnaaaa.” He whines while Yuuri watches them both, wide-eyed.

“No ‘but Donna’, you know the rules, weeks! Need weeks! You come, think you can sweet talk me, give you suit in four days. Why? Why you do this to me? Bad boy.”

“What if I bring you those chocolate covered caramels you love from the candy shop on the south side? I can hook you up, girl.”

She eyes him. “Bribery will get you nowhere, _boy_.”

He blinks innocently at her. “Bribery? Never! Just a gift, from one friend to another. And the figs? I know you love the figs. And they just released a new almond cluster variety! Dark chocolate!”

They share a long look, Phichit’s full of innocence and Donna’s shrewd. Finally she grunts again and wacks Yuuri on the arm. “You go change, leave suit here. Lucky boy! I only needs small alterations. Come pick up Friday morning. And you-“ She turns and pokes a finger in Phichit’s belly. He ‘oofs’. “Chocolates, lot of them, and do not bring me last minute problems like this again. I will tell your mother!”

Yuuri sneaks off to change, laughing quietly at Phichit’s squeal of alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blue suit: https://www.alsformalwear.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Fantasy-Midnight-Blue-Tux-front.jpg


	5. Gold and Glitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's party time!  
> Except nobody's having fun.

It’s date night. Yuuri’s been on the edge of his seat for the last couple hours and it’s finally, finally time. The minute he’s ‘allowed’, he signs off all of his job’s nets and locks up his computers.

Vicchan gets a quick walk and a lot of treats as an apology, including a brand new filled bone that he happily starts gnawing on. Yuuri feels a little guilty at leaving him for an undisclosed time, but Phichit is on standby in case he needs a walk.

He’d picked up his suit earlier that morning, arriving with a gourmet cup of hot cocoa and a not-quite-gourmet box of assorted chocolates as a peace offering to Donna. The final bill had made him a bit faint, but he’d dutifully handed over his credit card. She had patted his cheek and told him he was welcome to come back – as long as he gave her two weeks notice of alterations next time.

The suit is just as gorgeous and soft as he remembers it. He slips it on, then runs his hands down the lapels. Even the buttons are slick and shiny. He takes Phichit’s suggestion and slicks back his hair and switches his glasses for contacts. Once done, he checks himself over in the mirror (‘passable’, his mind whispers), slips on some plain black dress shoes, and heads out to the waiting car.

The ride to the event is uneventful. Georgi is, apparently, not a big talker – when Yuuri asks him questions, he gets grunts in reply. Yuuri stops asking. He fidgets in the car, trying not to crease the suit. His anxiety, a steady hum while he was getting dressed, spikes as they near… wherever they’re going.

In hindsight, he really should have asked Victor for more details.

They pull up in a round driveway in front of an oversized, brightly lit mansion, sandwiched by expensive looking sportscars. Yuuri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing himself to relax, while Georgi gives him a slightly intimidating look through the rearview mirror.

“Ready?” Georgi asks, his tone surprisingly gentle despite his look. Yuuri swallows and nods, then reaches for the door. Georgi tuts. “Stay.” He orders.

Yuuri pulls his hand back quickly and drops it in his lap, already berating himself for his own private faux pas. A moment later the door opens from the outside. He hesitates, but Georgi nods at him, and he swings his legs out and exits the car.

A few steps away, Victor is waiting next to a cluster of valets. The Russian is resplendent in a black jacket and steel grey waistcoat. Instead of a traditional tie, he has some sort of silk kerchief around his neck. It makes Yuuri think of some dashing debonair from a Jane Austen novel, and somehow, Victor makes it work. He flashes Yuuri a little smile in greeting; Yuuri’s knees go a little weak in response.

There’s a thud behind Yuuri as the valet closes the car door and he barely manages to not jump out of his skin at the sound. A quick glance around show’s he’s holding up the line, lost in staring at his date. He skitters towards Victor as the car pulls away, desperate for something familiar.

Victor catches him easily with an arm around his waist, guiding him to the side and out of the flow of arriving guests. Then he steps back, letting go once Yuuri’s steady, and whistles quietly.

“Wow. Look at you.” Victor whispers, seeming a little stunned. His eyes are wide, skimming up and down his form, while Yuuri fights against his own blushing and smooths his hands down his front self-consciously.

“Um. Is it okay?”

Victor swallows hard. “Absolutely. You look amazing, Yuuri. Really… really nice.”

Yuuri has to clear his throat before he can manage a steady reply. Or at least, it starts steady. “Thank you. You, too. You know, just like usual, but better, uh.” He stops and winces while Victor’s smile grows.

“Yuuuurrriii.” He teases. “Just like usual, hm?”

Yuuri presses his lips together and tries not to flush. It doesn’t quite work, he can feel his cheeks warming, but Victor offers his arm and an apologetic smile. Yuuri’s never been on someone’s arm, but it feels wrong to leave Victor standing there offering, so he hesitantly drops his hand to it. Victor doesn’t laugh at it, so he assumes it’s okay.

“This is more where you thought I’d live, right?” Victor asks, giving Yuuri a glance that seems almost calculating as he leads the way up the oversized front staircase. The doors are opened by men in tuxedos before they’re even to them. Yuuri tries not to gape as they enter.

“Well, yes.” He mumbles once he realizes Victor is expecting an answer. He looks around at the opulence. Gold trim, flowers everywhere, priceless paintings and furniture. There’s a huge winding staircase in the center, busy with overdressed guests going up and down, and butlers in honest-to-god tails are darting between people with trays and drinks.

The whole thing has his blood pressure rising and his anxiety spiking. After a minute of looking around, he admits, “I’m glad you don’t, though. It seems… too much.”

Victor gives him an unreadable look and then tugs him gently towards the stairs. The moment they’re there, a tux-wearing butler stops them and bows. Yuuri frowns, but Victor’s smiling, as if this is completely normal.

Maybe it is, to him.

“Good evening, sirs. Dinner is at eight.” The man states, “There is cocktails and hors d’oeuvres in the second floor ballroom, if you’ll follow me?”

Without waiting for a reply, he’s straightening and walking away from them. Victor pats Yuuri’s hand on his arm and follows, though he swipes a glass of champagne from a second waiter on the way. He offers it to Yuuri, who shakes his head.

“I have obligations to mingle.” He explains as they climb and near a ballroom that’s already loud, a thousand voices spilling out to the hall. He tosses the champagne back in two swallows and drops the glass off on yet another waiter’s waiting empty tray. “But you don’t, of course. You’re welcome to stay with me, but I’ll understand if you’d like to explore or something instead. The entire house except the fourth floor is open, and there’s some gorgeous artwork and statues in the second floor gallery.”

Yuuri immediately dismisses the idea. “I’d rather stay with you, if you don’t mind.” Wandering around some rich guy’s house, alone, is not his idea of a good time. God forbid he smudge a painting or break something. His hand twitches against Victor’s arm at the thought.

“Of course.” Victor gives him a small smile, then snags a second glass of champagne from yet another passing waiter. Seriously, they’re like bees, buzzing around constantly. He hands it to Yuuri, who takes it a little numbly.

“You’ll need this. Stay close.” He murmurs, then they’re melding into the crowd. Victor seems endlessly charming, bowing and kissing ladies hands, winking, sharing firm handshakes with the men. He’s calm and confident, the epitome of grace and poise; the rich gentleman, greeting his brethren. He never lets go of Yuuri’s hand, keeping it tucked inside his elbow.

Yuuri just tries to nod where he’s supposed to nod and not trip over himself as they wind their way through the crowd. He’s suddenly very thankful for the champagne he’s clutching – it gives him something to do with the hand not tucked in Victor’s elbow and works as a great prop to avoid having to talk.

There’s people _everywhere_ , all in suits and dresses and more jewelry than he’s seen in his life. It’s stifling. Every time something brushes up against him, he has to lock his muscles in place to keep from bolting like a scared racehorse. His head’s already starting to pound and he’s sweating beneath his suit jacket.

Victor, in contrast, seems… well, not happy, really. Polished? Comfortable. But it’s nothing like Victor watching Hackers. It’s not even the Victor he’d seen at the restaurant. This Victor is somehow untouchable; aloof and suave, but somehow inhuman. Even his voice is different. Smoother, but less emotional, as fake as the rest of his performance.

Yuuri’s quickly convinced that Victor’s completely, utterly miserable. He’s not even entirely sure how he knows that, but there is no doubt in his mind after Victor snatches another glass of champagne and downs it similar to his first. After dropping off the empty glass, he catches Yuuri’s gaze.

“Doing okay?” He leans close to ask.

“I’m fine.” Yuuri lies, then turns it back on him. “Are _you?_ ”

Victor flashes him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, ignores the question completely, and turns to greet a young woman schmoozing her way up to him. Yuuri wants to wrinkle his nose at the entire thing. Instead, he plays with his half-full glass of champagne, careful to only take small sips. The last thing he needs is to get drunk and do something he’ll regret, like make a scene by dragging Victor out to go bowling instead.

Wait, can he? Would Victor do it?

“You must be Yuuri.” A voice next to his ear startles him. He jumps and clutches Victor’s arm, leaning against him and _away_ from the voice. Victor’s free hand flies up to cover his as he glances over. He makes a quick excuse to his current conversation partner and turns, angling himself between the man and Yuuri in a motion so smooth that it seems completely casual.

“Hello, Chris.” He greets, sounding wary as he drops his arm to Yuuri’s waist, curving a hand around his hip. His fingers dig in a little.

 _Possessive,_ Yuuri thinks, then shuts down that train of thought before it can spiral out of control.

Chris watches them both, though his gaze is mostly on Yuuri. He’s dressed smartly in a tux, bleach-blonde dyed hair coifed carefully back from his face. His bright green eyes take Yuuri in top to bottom. Yuuri shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

Not sure what else to do, he two-hands his champagne glass awkwardly and tries not to start tapping at the glass. Chris smirks as he notices the hesitation.

“I’ve heard so much about you.” He says to Yuuri after a prolonged pause, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “Victor has been positively raving about his, ah…” He trails off, raising a brow at Victor, “Boyfriend, I suppose? Lover? Date?”

“Stop it, Chris.” Victor responds instead of answering the question. His tone is hard; a warning.

Chris chuckles. “Rude to not introduce me, you know. You’re in my house, drinking my booze.” He says teasingly. Victor lets out a little sigh and turns to Yuuri with an apologetic look.

“Yuuri, Chris. Chris, Yuuri. Chris is my VP in Europe and best friend of… what, fifteen years now?”

“Almost twenty, _mon amie_ , hate to admit it. But enough about us. You, Yuuri, are absolutely delectable. Where’d you find him, Victor?”

“He found me.” Victor scoffs, but his fingers tighten a little more against Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri’s heart speeds up. “And no, you can’t have him.”

“Aw, not even part time? I share well, you know.”

“I’m… right here…” Yuuri interjects in a panic, a little tired of feeling talked over and definitely not into anything involving sharing. Chris grins and inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“Of course, my apologies.” He sips his champagne, then continues, tone taunting. “How do you like our little soiree? Is it everything you’d hoped from a Nikiforov?”

“Chris…” Victor chastises. Yuuri blinks, glancing between them. Chris, at least, is very obviously waiting for an answer, one brow raised.

“It’s… very nice.” He hedges. “Everyone looks… very nice, and, uh, the champagne is good?”

“Only the best for our type, I suppose.” Chris responds with an overly bright smile that reminds Yuuri of a shark. “Gold and diamonds, champagne on ice, all that.”

Yuuri feels like he’s missing something. Again. “Right.” He mutters, dropping his gaze to the glass in his hands. He suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with it. Victor’s hand moves from his hip to the small of his back, his palm warm, thumb stroking in small circles. A comfort? A warning? Yuuri has no idea. He’s way out of his depth here. He reaches up and tugs at his tie, which suddenly seems to be strangling him, then stops because he’s going to ruin it if he keeps adjusting it.

Chris gives him another long look before bending and whispering something to Victor, who frowns at him and narrows his eyes. Chris shrugs, then sketches a little bow to Yuuri before raising his own glass again.

“Excuse me, please. As the host, I am required to spend no more than ten minutes with each guest, lest I be drawn and quartered for favoritism. Nice to meet you.” And then he’s gone, off to greeting other guests.

Victor stares after him, his hand stilling against Yuuri’s back. When Yuuri reaches out to touch his arm, he jerks, blinks, and steps away. His hand falls away. Yuuri immediately misses it.

“Ah.” He inhales, seeming to steady himself. “Chris can be… well.” He motions to where the other man had gone.

“Yeah. It’s alright.” Yuuri assures, not sure if he believes his own words. He wants to go shower, scrub this entire night off his skin, and maybe cry. This isn’t the worst date he’s been on, but it’s definitely up in the top five, and they’ve barely started.

Victor ducks his head with a quiet chuckle. When he looks back up, it’s with a plastic smile back on his lips, carefree and suave. He offers his arm back to Yuuri, who takes it mostly by reflex.

“Let me introduce you to the governor.” He offers, and Yuuri just mutely nods while internally screaming.

Victor leads him through several introductions, not that he could remember a word of them, while Yuuri’s tie seems to get tighter and tighter. He adjusts it as discreetly as he can, but Victor notices, giving him little sideways glances during pauses in conversation.

Yuuri’s about five seconds away from begging for mercy by the time Victor leads him through a glass door and onto a balcony. The cool air is heady and he gulps in air like he’s dying, his fingers working at the tie knot and pulling it lose. He lets the tails dangle from his neck and hunches over the balcony railing, head hanging low, eyes shut tight as he tries to remember how to breathe normally.

Victor leans next to him, poised and calm, arms crossed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri chokes out even as he blinks back tears. “Just… give me a minute.”

Victor’s quiet and still. When Yuuri glances up, he looks confused, watching with those piercing blue eyes. He swallows and starts to say something, but Victor’s eyes suddenly light up as music filters out from the ballroom.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Victor asks, and all Yuuri can do is nod before Victor’s taking his hand and expertly sweeping him into a waltz, right there on the balcony. Yuuri stiffens at first, surprised, but his body knows the movements and muscle memory takes over.

The musicians are good, but Victor is better. He’s been taught well, though he keeps them to pretty basic steps. Yuuri could, if he wanted, dance circles around him.

He doesn’t. He lets Victor keep the lead, content to follow. Victor’s smiling again, small but _real,_ and he wants to keep it there. When Victor does actually spin him out a little, he spins back, his jacket flying around him, and expertly fits back into the frame. Victor raises a brow, Yuuri smirks a little, then they’re back on the beat and back to basic steps.

It’s nice, almost carefree. Yuuri doesn’t even have to think about the steps, just lets his muscle memory take over. The music is nice, if a bit bland. Victor’s relaxing little by little under his hands, and he’s relaxing too, panic from earlier swept away with the physical movement.

He softens his frame, moving closer to Yuuri until they’re just a breath away from touching, and the dance changes. It’s less standard steps and more… being close. He lets out a breath, drops his head against Victor’s shoulder, and closes his eyes as they sway together.

Halfway through the next song something changes. Victor goes stiff, frowning at something over Yuuri’s shoulder, and a second later he’s stepping away from Yuuri almost guiltily, dropping his hands like they’re rocks.

“What?” Yuuri has to ask as Victor stops and runs a hand through his hair. Some of it flicks up, out of place. Yuuri blinks. Victor’s _nervous._

“I need a moment.” He murmurs, his gaze flicking to an older man who had been watching them dance through the glass doors. “Stay here?” Yuuri hesitates, but Victor whispers “Please.”

Yuuri nods while Victor moves away, towards the doors. The man meets him halfway, scowling.

It starts as a quiet conversation, but seconds later it’s escalating. Victor’s voice rises while the older man gestures to Yuuri, then back in the ballroom, biting out harsh sounding Russian. People around them stare. Victor doesn’t seem to care, flicking his bangs out of his eyes and glaring outright at his adversary before responding, just as heated.

Yuuri tries to stay away, he really does, but he’s drawn to Victor like a moth to flame. As he nears, the older man gives him a glare dark enough to make him honestly fear for his safety. Victor steps in front of him, almost protectively, and the man snorts and shakes his head.

Victor bites out something else, the Russian harsh on his tongue. It makes the older man laugh, but without humor. He answers in the same language before turning away. Victor glares at his back until he’s lost in the throng of people in the ballroom. Once he’s gone, Victor turns to Yuuri, reaches for his hand, then aborts the movement and clenches a fist instead.

He straightens. His smile is fake, plastic, wrong wrong _wrong._

“Back to it, I suppose.” He mumbles, offering no explanation or apologies. Yuuri reaches out, grasping his wrist before he can stop himself. Victor pauses, his gaze flicking from Yuuri’s hand to his face, waiting.

“Victor…” He hesitates, but he really can’t take anymore fake smiling. Social smoozing might be part of Victor’s job, but… it’s painful to watch him put on a performance like this. He’d push through the anxiety and social awkwardness if it was making Victor happy, but it’s clearly _not._

Their phone conversation flickers through his memory. The excitement about bowling, the flatness of the party invitation. Yuuri takes a deep breath, hoping he’s not wrong.

“Victor, let’s go bowling. Right now. Let’s just go.”

It takes a second for Victor to understand, but once he does, the smile he gives Yuuri is 100% real.

He doesn’t even say goodbye to anyone, just takes Yuuri’s hand and hauls him out of the oversized house. Yuuri can’t stop the stupid smile he knows he’s wearing. His tie, still loose, flaps around him as they race each other down the mansion’s staircase. Once they break free outside, Victor abruptly turns, engulfing him in a hug that aches both physically and mentally.

Georgi pulls up a few minutes later, they get in the car, and Victor pulls Yuuri close and drops his head on his shoulder. He’s twisted awkwardly, with his neck at what must be an uncomfortable angle, but he stays there, quiet, until the house is out of sight and they’ve hopped on a highway. Then he lets out a shuddering sigh and kisses Yuuri’s cheek.

“Thank you. I know you wanted the glitz and glam but it’s… hard.”

Yuuri blinks, a little stunned by the kiss and even more stunned by the words, even though they just confirmed what he’d already been thinking. “I didn’t want that. I thought _you_ wanted that.”

Victor shudders again. “Never. I don’t want anything to do with that gossiping, elitist group.”

“So why did we go?”

“You said you expected more. You didn’t seem impressed with bowling.”

Yuuri stares at him. “Victor. I…” He frowns. “I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to do fancy parties and suits to impress me. I just thought _you_ wanted something, uh… grander.”

“I just want you.” Victor says, stunning Yuuri into temporary silence. It’s too much too soon, and Yuuri knows that, but his heart skips a beat anyway. Victor just gives him a little smile, a bit sheepish, and lets his head loll back on his shoulder. Yuuri can smell his shampoo, something minty, though he tries not to sniff Victor like a crazy person.

After a minute of internalizing the statement, he admits quietly, “Me, too.”

Victor lets out a breath but stays silent.

The bowling alley is exactly as described – a run down, family-owned establishment that was likely a popular spot in the 90’s. They skip the actual bowling, agreeing that their suits aren’t cut for athletics, and instead settle in plastic seats at a sticky table, sharing a plate of chili cheese fries bigger than Yuuri’s head.

Victor leaves his coat in the car and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows before digging in. Somehow, left in only the shirt and waistcoat and ascot, he goes from gorgeous to incredibly sexy. Yuuri has a hard time concentrating on eating; he keeps getting distracted by Victor’s forearms, of all things, like a glimpse of an ankle in Victorian times.

It’s endearing to see Victor’s strained, fake smiles melt away. He chats animatedly with the lady serving them (the owner of the alley, Yuuri learns later), praises her deep-fryer cooking endlessly, and shovels down fries like they’re the finest thing he’s eaten in months. Yuuri’s a little more subdued, though he does happily share the fries, and even gets talked into sharing a chocolate milkshake as dessert.

When the plate and glasses are empty, they push them away and visit the little arcade room, where Yuuri practically drools over a true, original Pac Man console while Victor watches with obvious amusement. Yuuri plays while Victor sneaks up behind him, just close enough to brush against his back. He slips a hand under Yuuri’s suit jacket, his fingers splaying out right above his hip with only the thin dress shirt between them. Yuuri’s cheeks burn as he tries to juggle playing the game with controlling his reactions to Victor.

He lets out a little grumble under his breath when a ghost gets him. Victor chuckles behind him, leans forward, and rests his chin against his shoulder. His chest presses up against Yuuri’s back in a line of heat and solid muscle.

He chuckles while Yuuri dies a lot, thoroughly distracted.

After a while, he gives up, and they end up wandering through the rest of the arcade. There’s a couple other classic games, too. Yuuri tries to get Victor to play some, but he refuses, insisting he’s having more fun just watching Yuuri.

After playing around on the games, they settle on a bench against the arcade wall and spend an hour just talking, both content in each other’s presence until the owner comes out to regretfully inform them it’s closing time. She rattles off something in Russian to Victor, then pats his shoulder before turning away. When he turns back to Yuuri, his cheeks are pink.

Yuuri wisely doesn’t ask. Victor doesn’t tell.

“I didn’t realize there were so many Russians in this city.” He mumbles instead, making Victor laugh.

“Shall we?” He asks, standing and brushing dust off his pants before offering Yuuri a hand. He pulls him up, then twines his fingers around Yuuri’s. They return to the car hand in hand, Victor’s thumb stroking against Yuuri’s knuckle.

In the car, his head returns right where it was, propped up on Yuuri’s shoulder. This time, Yuuri reaches up and combs gentle fingers through his hair. Victor sighs and almost deflates, going boneless and silent.

“Victor…” Yuuri starts, chewing his lip. “About tonight.”

“Mm?” Victor sounds half-asleep. Yuuri can’t help but smile. _This_ Victor is the one he likes best.

“Please don’t make yourself miserable because of what you think I want.”

Victor stiffens, then relaxes again, letting out a sigh. He doesn’t answer, but Yuuri doesn’t really expect him to.

They pull up to Yuuri’s apartment way too soon. Neither of them move at first, then Victor lets out a sigh and straightens.

Victor walks him to his door like the gentleman he is, quiet as Yuuri fits his key in the door and opens it. He leaves it cracked, not quite willing to go in yet.

 _Invite him in!_ His brain yells at him, but then he remembers his dirty laundry in the hamper… the dust that’s accumulated in the past few days… dirty dishes in the sink… his old, lumpy sofa… and he presses his lips together to not blurt out the invitation.

Victor reaches up and lays his palm against the side of Yuuri’s neck, his thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” He murmurs. “People normally expect… more from me.”

“I should have told you bowling sounded fun.” Yuuri admits. “I was just a little caught off guard.”

Victor smiles at him, warm and sweet, and leans with one elbow against the door frame. It boxes Yuuri in a little. He doesn’t complain. His hand moves up Yuuri’s face, brushing fingertips against his cheek, then higher, stroking his temple.

“So, bowling – for real – next week?” Victor asks with a hint of hopefulness. “I have to fly out to Paris early tomorrow morning but I’ll be back Thursday.”

“Paris, huh. Just another day at the office?” Yuuri teases, only a little breathless because of the attention. Victor chuckles and ducks his head. When his fringe drops over his eyes, Yuuri can’t help himself and reaches up to brush it away. Victor catches his hand in his own, twisting their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“There’s some perks to it, I guess.” After a quick squeeze, he brings their joined hands up and kisses Yuuri’s knuckles, one by one. It’s endearing, if a little outdated, and Yuuri can’t help the stupid smile he knows he’s wearing.

“Good night, Yuuri.”

“Good night, Victor.” Yuuri whispers. “Hurry back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's suit: https://www.alsformalwear.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Fantasy-Midnight-Blue-Tux-front.jpg  
> Victor's getup: https://www.johnstuxedos.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/Grey-Cutaway-Lord-West.jpg
> 
> They're slightly different versions of 'formal' but oh well. I had too much fun browsing.


End file.
